A FARM IN NORMANDY.
A Norman gentleman farmer and his wife sat together in their snug
parlor. Their children had all gone to bed an hour ago. Their one
excellent servant was preparing supper in the kitchen close by. The
warmly-curtained room had a look of almost English comfort. Children's
books and toys lay scattered about. The good house-mother, after
putting these in order, sat down by her husband's side to enjoy the
first quiet half hour of the day.
"What a fall of snow we have had, Marie," said M. Dupois, "and how
bitterly cold it is! Why, already the thermometer is ten degrees below
zero. I hate such deep snow. I must go out with the sledge the first
thing in the morning and open a road."
Of course this husband and wife conversed in French, which is here
translated.
"Hark!" said Mme. Dupois, suddenly raising her forefinger, "is not that
something like a soft knocking? Can anyone have fallen down in this
deep snow at our door?"
M. Dupois rose at once and pushed aside the crimson curtain from one of
the windows.
"Yes, yes," he exclaimed quickly, "you are right, my good wife; here is
a lad lying on the ground. Run and get Annette to heat blankets and
make the kitchen fire big. I will go round to the poor boy."
When M. Dupois did at last reach Joe Barnes, he had only strength to
murmur in his broken French, "Go and save the others under the old
wall--two children and dog"--before he fainted away.
But his broken words were enough; he had come to people who had the
kindest hearts in the world.
It seemed but a moment before he himself was reviving before the
blazing warmth of a great fire, while the good farmer with three of his
men was searching for the missing children.
They were not long in discovering them, with the dog himself, now
nearly frozen, stretched across Cecile's body.
Poor little starving lambs! they were taken into warmth and shelter,
though it was a long time before either Cecile or Maurice showed the
faintest signs of life.
Maurice came to first, Cecile last. Indeed so long was she unconscious,
so unavailing seemed all the warm brandy that was poured between her
lips, that Mme. Dupois thought she must be dead.
The farmer's children, awakened by the noise, had now slipped
downstairs in their little nightdresses. And when at last Cecile's blue
eyes opened once more on this world, it was to look into the bright
black orbs of a little Norman maiden of about her own age.
"Oh, look, mamma! Look! her eyes open, she sees! she lives! she moves!
Ah, mother! how pleased I am."
The little French girl cried in her joy, and Cecile watched her
wonderingly, After a time she asked in a feeble, fluttering voice:
"Please is this heaven? Have we two little children really got to
heaven?"
Her English words were only understood by Mme. Dupois, and not very
perfectly by her. She told the child that she was not in heaven, but in
a kind earthly home, where she need not think, but just eat something
and then go to sleep.
"And oh, mamma! How worn her little shoes are! and may I give her my
new hat, mamma?" asked the pretty and pitying little Pauline.
"In the morning, my darling. In the morning we will see to all that.
Now the poor little wanderers must have some nice hot broth, and then
they shall sleep here by the kitchen fire."
Strange to say, notwithstanding the terrible hardships they had
undergone, neither Cecile nor Maurice was laid up with rheumatic fever.
They slept soundly in the warmth and comfort of the delicious kitchen,
and awoke the next morning scarcely the worse for their grave danger
and peril.
And now followed what might have been called a week in the Palace
Beautiful for these little pilgrims. For while the snow lasted, and the
weather continued so bitterly cold, neither M. nor Mme. Dupois would
hear of their leaving them. With their whole warm hearts these good
Christian people took in the children brought to them by the snow.
Little Pauline and her brother Charles devoted themselves to Cecile and
Maurice, and though their mutual ignorance of the only language the
others could speak was owned to be a drawback, yet they managed to play
happily and to understand a great deal; and here, had Cecile confided
as much of her little story to kind Mme. Dupois as she had done to Joe
Barnes, all that follows need never have been written. But alas! again
that dread, that absolute terror that her purse of gold, if discovered,
might be taken from her, overcame the poor little girl; so much so
that, when Madame questioned her in her English tone as to her life's
history, and as to her present pilgrimage, Cecile only replied that she
was going through France on her way to the South, that she had
relations in the South. Joe, when questioned, also said that he had a
mother and a brother in the South, and that he was taking care of
Cecile and Maurice on their way there.
Mme. Dupois did not really know English well, and Cecile's reserve,
joined to her few words of explanation, only puzzled her. As both she
and her husband were poor, and could not, even if it were desirable,
adopt the children, there seemed nothing for it but, when the weather
cleared, to let them continue on their way.
"There is one thing, however, we can do to help them," said M. Dupois.
"I have decided to sell that corn and hay in Paris, and as the horses
are just eating their heads off with idleness just now in their
stables, the men shall take the wagons there instead of having the
train expenses; the children therefore can ride to Paris in the wagons."
"That will take nearly a week, will it not, Gustave?" asked Mme. Dupois.
"It will take three or four days, but I will provision the men. Yes, I
think it the best plan, and the surest way of disposing advantageously
of the hay and corn. The children may be ready to start by Monday. The
roads will be quite passable then."
So it was decided, and so it came to pass; Charles and Pauline assuring
Joe, who in turn informed Cecile and Maurice, that the delights of
riding in one of their papa's wagons passed all description. Pauline
gave Cecile not only a new hat but new boots and a new frock. Maurice's
scanty and shabby little wardrobe was also put in good repair, nor was
poor Joe neglected, and with tears and blessing on both sides, these
little pilgrims parted from those who had most truly proved to them
good Samaritans.